


The Mandalorian and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad... Series of Unfortunate Events (AKA the really, really long day)

by bookstorequeer



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e02 The Passenger, Episode: s02e03 The Heiress, Gen, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstorequeer/pseuds/bookstorequeer
Summary: Internal Mandalorian thoughts as he struggles to keep his foundling safe.Life hadn't been easy before, moving from one bounty to the next but he hadn't felt sohunted, so vulnerable. And to have someone under his protection? That just made it worse.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	The Mandalorian and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad... Series of Unfortunate Events (AKA the really, really long day)

**Author's Note:**

> This started because I was sad there were no more episodes and because our Mandalorian just needs a good cuddle. It became a bit more than that but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.
> 
> Spoilers for major plot points of specifically episodes **S02E02 Chapter 10: The Passenger** and **S02E03 Chapter 11: The Heiress**. Also presume spoilers up to those episodes as well (although only vaguely).
> 
> Minor canon-swearing and violence.

He'd been walking towards Mos Eisley for hours, sand gritty in his boots and the sun flaring in his helm. A header off the speeder hadn't done either him nor his foundling any good. It had been one thing after another since he'd picked up the kid. The second time.

Life hadn't been easy before, moving from one bounty to the next but he hadn't felt so _hunted_ , so vulnerable. And to have someone under his protection? That just made it worse. He'd been tasked with finding the child's kind but even before that there had been something about the kid. It didn't make any sense. He'd never felt an instant connection to _anyone_ before; hadn't bothered to care since the Mandalorians had taken him in. But there was something about those wide, dark eyes that just made him want to pick the child up, to keep it close. 

Sand shifted beneath his feet and he cursed, jolting out of his thoughts. His body was aching, the lost armour heavy across his shoulders, but the kid seemed content enough in a bag at his hip. He didn't know how it could sleep in the staggered sway of his footsteps but he'd take it. The loll of that trusting head made the next step a little easier. The foundling expected him to get them somewhere safe. Despite his knees quavering, he wouldn't give up.

There'd be time to rest tomorrow. Once they were in the air, once they had some direction to go. There had to be some tiny corner of this whole damned galaxy that they could hide in. Where they could take a moment to breathe, to lick their wounds in peace. Then they would take up the search for his foundling's people.

The sooner he dropped off the kid, the better. A part of him might treasure the companionship, that tiny spark of warmth he hadn't felt since people called him Din Djarin. The Mandalorian Fighting Corps hadn't involved comfort so much as training drills at dawn and immediate, harsh correction.

Sometimes when the kid blinked up at him, he longed to look at it through his own eyes, just for an instant. He'd never wanted to take off his helmet in front of someone before and the urge scared him. Despite constant alarms and angry adrenaline, something inside of him was uncoiling for the first time in well over a decade. A part of him that remembered his mother's hands, his father's shoulders, never wanted to think about giving away this child.

But what they had now was no life for a kid. Scrambling from one firefight to the next, leaving his foundling with people he barely knew well enough to trust. He found comfort in being part of a Clan again but that wasn't The Way. The Way was completing his quest, finding the kid's people, and then looking for his next bounty. The rest didn't matter. _Couldn't_ matter.

Taking off from Tatooine, sand still making his boots squeak, he was already regretting giving 500 credits to Dr Mandible. Even if this lead panned out, it was strange having someone else on his ship, someone he couldn't communicate with. Granted, the kid never seemed to listen but at least he felt understood. It was difficult to express the need for silence when he was lying through his teeth to the New Republic across the radio, to explain that he just needed to rest with a broken ship and an ice planet closing in around him.

Sighing, he slid down the bulkhead. His helmet thunked against the console like it always did as he tilted it back to look at the ceiling. His body ached and his eyes were burning. He'd give a year of his life for an undisturbed night's rest. He'd been on edge for months, ever since he'd picked up that damn tracking fob in the first place.

He opened his eyes at a tiny tug on his arm.

"What is it, kid?"

The nuisance cooed at him, arms up, demanding.

"All right."

He couldn't resist those eyes despite years of training. It made his bruised elbow twinge but that warm weight was somehow comforting, settled close.

"Good?"

He wanted to record the happy coo for when this was all behind him and his foundling was grown and gone. It had been years since anyone had touched him without ill intent, beyond a ' _job well done_ ' back slap. The kid was comforting and familiar.

Shifting on the floor with one hand on the kid's back, he sighed again. This was his chance for a little shut eye, if nothing broke off the ship in the meantime.

He awoke to his passenger speaking through a dead droid's voice. He shuddered within chilled armour at how close his foundling had come to death that day and on so many others since. He was no fit caretaker for the child but he would do his best by the tiny creature.

Certainly all this could wait until morning but it _was_ getting colder and he didn't need more reasons to worry about the kid. He might be new to being part of a Clan, to having a foundling of his own but his caretakers had never let _him_ freeze.

"Fine," he muttered, stomping out into the snow, grateful for thick gloves and a helmet that deflected most of the cold. His infrared sensors squeaked as frost swirled across his helmet.

He'd been working on the engine for ages before he was interrupted. Then it was a blur of corralling the kid and his damned appetite, and snow, and so many ice spiders that he'd be dreaming of them for far, _far_ too long. The less he thought about that nightmare the better; he didn't need more reasons to awake panicked and reaching for a blaster.

As Maldo Kreis fell away beneath them, the soft whoosh of his passenger's breathing and the sleepy coos of the foundling on his lap lulled him into a doze. The _Razor Crest_ was well-broken and limping but he'd cranked the temperature as high as it would go, once the cockpit door was sealed. He relaxed a fraction into the suffocating warmth, closing his eyes and counting the child's heartbeats against his gloved palm.

Their landing on Trask was soggier than he'd hoped but the kid was all right and they delivered the prospective mother to her intended destination. With a fresh lead and Mandalorians to find, they boarded a trawler and he nearly smiled beneath his helm at the excited coos of his companion. The kid was cute, all wide eyes blinking up at him.

Despite knowing that the hover-pram was sturdier, more secure, and a better choice for times like these, surrounded by unknowns, he still preferred the flimsier satchel. He could admit to himself that he liked the closeness, liked knowing exactly where the kid was because he could feel each breath and squirm against his leg.

Unlike that instant when everything went so wrong and the hover-pram was kicked into the water. He was helpless to catch it but he still tried to follow. For a heart-stopping moment, as ocean closed over his head, he lost his foundling. Flickering sensors pinged and flared in his helmet, a cacophony of useless information; he had no idea how to fight a mamacore. He'd trained with the Rising Phoenix because they'd rescued him on Aq Vetina but there were no oceans or Mandalorian water-squads on Nevarro. He was out of his depth and wavering badly.

His lungs and his heart ached when nothing came into range of his sensors. All he got was liquid seeping into every crack in his armour, dragging him down. Surfacing made no difference as he gulped air, increasingly disoriented as the Quarren above jabbed at him and yelled.

He was about to abandon the surface and do another sweep for the hover-pram when the laser fire started. Gloved hands hauled him up over the edge and despite his exhaustion, he managed to grind out, “The Child. Help the Child.”

He started breathing again, soaking wet and shaking, once that familiar weight was in his arms, wrinkled face blinking up at him.

"I know," he wanted to murmur, wanted to lean close and just _hug_ the kid. But instead there were Mandalorians taking off their helmets and he had to leave, had to get the kid somewhere safe. He just needed a damned minute to regroup from getting his bell rung so hard and thinking he'd lost his Foundling. His _Clan_.

If the Creed meant nothing to those Mandalorians and those Mandalorians were descendants of the Mandalore, then... No. What mattered was completing his task and keeping his foundling safe, whatever way he could. The rest could and would have to wait. What mattered was the kid.

He settled the child in the jump-seat, shiny joystick ball in hand, and got the _Razor Crest_ powered up. His shoulders were black and blue inside his armour, hands trembling inside his gloves. With Trask at his back and stars in front, he let himself relax in the chair.

A soft coo interrupted his unintended doze and he groaned when glancing too quickly made his neck crack.

"What's wrong, kid?"

Arms reached out to him and he pulled the foundling into his lap without intending to move. They both sighed at the contact, a small green hand curling around his index finger and holding on tight.

"You okay?"

A frown and a reach towards his helmet. He leant closer and could almost feel the warmth of that tiny palm against his nose. This close, the kid's eyes seemed darker and depthless but he just wrapped his arms more closely around the little body and rested their foreheads against each other.

"You're okay," he murmured, eyes closing behind his visor, " _Dank ferrik_ , am I glad you're okay."

As the child in his arms started to slump, he settled them more comfortably to his chest, head tucked against his neck.

They were safe; he let himself breathe. They were together and they were _safe_.


End file.
